All In One Basket
by Kisshulover1
Summary: Castiel was one of those folks who always did right. He sang in the church choir, he minded his manners, and he always believed kindness was the key to goodness. So when his best friends needed him most, Castiel resolved to do all that he could to help them - no matter the cost. But in the hot Alabama weather of 1943, when tempers flared easily - nobody is safe from accusations.
1. Stealin' ain't no sin!

**Welcome to the first chapter of "All In One Basket"! I hope you enjoy your stay and are pleased with your read - please review, it makes me oh-so-happy! **I do not own Supernatural or it's characters - but I do own this story! **This chapters song is called **Rocks and Water **by** Deb Talan**.**

…**.**

His leather sole shoes made a terrible racket as they clamored over the low set planks of the simple bridge. His laces, untied like always, dipped softly in the cold water that smelled faintly foul - vegetation and the like swimming against it's current to create an awful colored green. But he didn't mind the scent, taking a huffed breath of the cold morning that still shook the leaves with Septembers early chill. It was perfect at this time, this moment - when his face was tight with cold and his black hair that he was told he got from his Daddy, unfurled messily in the wind.

These moments, it didn't so much as elate him as it contented him.

During the dawn, when the darkness was chased away by red and then yellow and then peach, it was _marvelous_. When the mockingbird sang at it's branch of hawthorn, and the trout made noisy splashes in the rivers that swirled all around the little sleepy whistle-stop town - it was wonderful. This little settlement nestled between thick oak and pine trees and swamps that stank to high heaven was the best place in his mind for one to get their fill of God's green earth.

It was this time when Castiel had his thoughts all to himself. To contemplate the last book he read - Madame Bovary, which was an invigorating read, but still made him shudder with bleak nerves -, or to think about how the sky was so blue right before night, why the robin hopped away from his feet instead of flew, or, even more importantly - what he was to do with his Saturday afternoon.

He was often plagued with these terribly trying thoughts that swam around his sixteen - soon to be seventeen - mind.

These thoughts were of great importance and he was not one to shoo away their persistent nagging in the back of his mind. His summer was almost gone, in the blink of an eye and he needed to cram it full with all kinds of activities before he was stuffed back inside those hot cramped school rooms where the teachers of the South still took rulers to your hands and pinched your face. All in the name of schooling.

He sucked at his cheek, feet hopping off the splintered wood of the creeks bridge to sink into the cold soil of the earth.

He half wished he had kept his shoes at home - the wet Alabama dirt feeling mighty fine between his toes - but his Daddy would be seeing red if he heard that his youngest son was running around the town shoeless. Castiel was _raised_ better, and he should _know_ better - his Daddy would tell him with a firm switch to the back of his legs.

Castiel frowned, holding the wire handle to the egg basket harder in his fist. He had no want to get another lashing by his father _or_ his older brother. He could behave, he knew he could. So he would bear the horribly itchy woolen socks on his feet and the thick soled shoes that caked with mud too easily.

He hated these shoes.

Sticking out his lower lip in a sorry excuse for a pout, he picked up his feet and started to hop and run over tree roots that up heaved themselves from the earth - some of the pines and oaks old enough to have been alive during the coming of Christ way off in Jerusalem - or so Michael always told him on Sunday evenings.

Castiel wasn't sure he believed his older brother, but it was an awe inspiring thought anyway, and it made his legs run faster, quicker through the trees that provided shade from the still burning sun above. The trees made him edgy. As if warriors of God lurked above their branches.

He wiped the sweat from his brow, banishing that way of thinking, the sun making his pale face burn more than his wild imagination.

It may be early September, but Lord was it hot.

Mindful of the heat, the youngest of the Novak's, cradling the basket to his chest, finally sprinted through a few bushes of boxwood to find himself on the dusty road of the main street.

The Damn town only had four lanes to it's name, but what busy streets they were - ones that Castiel could call home.

The young man had to maneuver himself quite carefully in order to not find himself squashed into the shiny grates of the Cadillac's that shone as black as a crows wings, or to not bump into the ladies carrying molasses and sugar in one arm and a babe in the other.

He waved to the boys at the steps of the barber shop who were in uniform, waiting for their turn at a shave or a short haircut, olive green hats in their hands.

He nodded his head to the horse drawn buckboard that brought in the Alfalfa and Cotton from Singers Plantation and Junk Yard, the old man atop his seat nodded to Castiel as the boy went by, his weathered old lips sucking at his pipe.

He ran and he waved and he smiled, feeling at ease with these people who knew him since he was in cloth dippers at his Mamma's skirts.

The black haired boy, however, was also especially careful to not accidentally drop his parcel, which Anna had given to him to deliver to the good people of _Samuel_, as she was a bit vexed with all the other orders of stock to deal with. Receipts a mile long she had said.

And, being the good little brother that he was, he gladly scooped up the wire basket of eggs that his sister had placed on the cool and shiny glass countertops of their families General store.

After he left the pretty red steps of the store and made his way - the long route through the thickets of abandoned black walnut groves and springs - he had himself along the streets that stung faintly of far off grilling meat and the exhaust of the cars that were steadily milling their engines through the gravel.

Yet, plenty soon, Castiel found himself at the first door on his stop.

Taking the brass knocker in the shape of a big mean looking dog between his fingers, he knocked it three times along the smoky colored wood of the door.

Biting his lip he tried not to cower - for the first person on his order list, was Mr. Crowley.

The man had a funny way of talking - and none too Christian like, either.

He swore with more ferocity than a man whipping a lazy mule. He was curt, smelled like old expensive whiskey and had a thing for threatening people with his Hell Hounds. Castiel Hated him intensely.

His Daddy didn't like to do business with him either, but Crowley was what some would say filthy stinking rich, and liked to buy his fathers goods - especially the expensive dog kibble they kept in the back of the store.

Their families relationship with the man was strained, but civil none the less. Crowley made fun of Jimmy Novak's little market behind his back, but he always came back with wads of cash for his daily needs. Tobacco, liquor and dog food.

Anna often joked that the kibble was for him and the dogs drank the whiskey.

Yet how ever much they joked it still didn't mean the littlest Novak had ever stopped his insistent fear of waiting on the Scottish mans door step to fill orders.

But all too soon the grating noise of locks being undone, of chains being unlinked, caused the blue-eyed young man to stiffen in his place, hands sweaty where they clutched the cold metal of the basket.

"'S about bloody time, runt! You do realize that people usually have their breakfast, oh - I don't know - _before_ the Goddamn noon sun!" Came a raspy hiss that was dipped in an accent so thick it almost made Castiel laugh - though he didn't dare. He did not need Mr. Crowley's hounds let loose on him - no, he'd like to keep all his limbs, thank you.

"Sorry, sir. I have your order right here." He meekly spoke, digging out of his pocket a little crumpled paper typed neatly in ink from their cash register.

Crowley, beady eyes and all, snatched it away from pale fingers and squinted at it for a second before nodding. He held out his hands lazily.

"Right then, hand 'em over. Runt." He mumbled, accepting the four eggs that Castiel passed to him with shaky fingers before. After the transaction was made and done the door was slammed in his face abruptly - a few dimes and quarters dropped to the floor.

At least the Demon-like man tipped well.

Grumbling, Castiel got on his knees and picked up the coins and pocketed them, saving a dime for himself to buy some two cent bubble-gum later should the mood strike him. Maybe a vanilla-cherry pop, too.

…

His next stop was much more friendly, more to his liking than mean old Crowley.

Making his way to a small little restaurant, black-eyed-Susan's and yarrow dotting the front of it in mix-matched pots, he knocked politely on the glass windowed doors. His feet began shifting back and forth from excitement.

In a matter of seconds he saw the curtains to the right of him draw back for a bit, before they were slid back in place and the sharp sound of a key docking into a lock gave weigh for the door to pull open. A smile greeted him, reaching to eyes warmer than an Angels.

"Castiel! I see you're doing Anna's routes for the day?" Ellens' voice was a bit raspy from always chatting with her patrons and taking sips of her rattlesnake whiskey, but she always had a kind word or smile for Castiel and he loved seeing her before the restaurant opened when he could. Early in the mornings was the best, before the crowd shook through the establishment.

"Yes'm. Maybe longer than today - she's mighty busy at the store." Castiel shyly spoke, catching the movement of two other people within the darken building.

Ash and Jo lingered behind their Mamma, both peering curiously at Castiel.

It was no wonder that everybody - at least adults - were kind to him, he being always quiet and attentive, singing in the church choir and helping his siblings with chores. He was a good boy, never did no one no harm.

But what he gained in admiration from the adults, he lacked in favor from kids his own age.

Oh, he wasn't picked on too badly. Occasionally being 'accidentally' pushed in the mud, or having stinging nettles stuck to his clothes - but it made making friends a hell of a lot of trouble.

So Castiel mostly just wandered along on his own, save for a few acquaintances. Ellens Children being some of the closest people he could safely call his friends.

So, when her son and daughter did show themselves behind their Mamma, Castiel gave them a right nice smile and nodded his head as Ellen checked over the receipt to make sure everything was in good order.

Ash, his mouth filled with bubblegum, gave a lazy nod back to the Novak child before leaning against the wooden door frame that creaked softly. He began to play with the closed sign in his fingers.

Jo smiled though, a pretty flash of teeth. Castiel nodded back good naturedly, noting that her straw colored hair was ratty in it's place atop her head. He knew for a fact she never brushed it - not with comb or fingers. She always said there was no point to when it would always just get all messed again.

He liked Ellens Kids, They always had such funny things to say.

When it was time to give her the eggs, a dozen and a half, to help feed the uproar of customers that would surely clamor to the restaurant at noon, she smiled at Castiel. Shooing her eldest, Ash, she sent him to go and get a slice of pie for the littlest Nokvak as a thank you for his hard work. She gestured to the fresh pie, in the pretty glass container that gleamed like polished quartz.

Castiel thanked Mrs. Ellen nice and kindly for her generosity - asking if he could have the pie wrapped up in a napkin for later as his father would be angry at him for eating sweets before breakfast.

She nodded, smile still in place before she hollered over her shoulder for Ash to bring it in a few wraps of pearly colored napkins. Once her words were met with a grunt of acknowledgement from Ash, she turned to her daughter, dropping each one into Jo's own waiting basket - egg after egg gently wrapped with soft straw so not one would crack and become useless.

When Ash came back with the pie - cold apple topped with cinnamon, smelling devilishly good, Castiel thanked her and her children again and went on his way.

The pie he stuck carefully and delicately atop the wedge of free space on his basket, careful to not break off a crumb. Ellen spent time and love into making her pies, and he was much appreciative to have been given just one heavenly slice.

Once the pastry was tucked nice and safely in the basket he trotted happily to his next stop.

Rufus, who had ordered three eggs, open the door smelling sweet with peach tobacco and a hint of leather oil. It made Castiel smile, the scent a lovely mix to his nose.

After giving the man a kind word and a good morning, he left him with his order and his receipt, marching off to his next house - ignoring the stares from white folks as he left the old mans property.

God fearing Christians they said they were - but Castiel saw them, on some Sunday nights dressed up in sheets of white and burning wood till the whole night sky was heavy with smoke.

He knew them by their shoes - the size fourteen clod hoppers was Mr. Zachariah's, the soft leather moccasins belonged to Alistair, work boots to Andy's twin brother. Castiel knew most of them and took well to avoid them men on the street.

It took him a good few months of struggling to understood why they did the things they did. Anna had taken him into her lap when he was young and explained that some folks were just plain hateful and ignorant of what they feared or didn't understand. They were wrong for it and would pay for their crimes in eternal damnation, she had told him with a firm nod.

So, swinging his basket at his side, Castiel whistled an old railroad song, paying no mind to those folks who glared at him slightly.

If they didn't like how his Daddy ran his store, accepting customers Black and White - then they could just sit on their rockers with snarls and brood like old hens without an egg. Castiel wouldn't give them the time of day.

On he went, to Bella's house to give her six eggs, Chuck his three, and Lisa and her son Ben their four.

By the time he was done, his shoes were caked with a first layer of mud and a second of street dust, yellow and pale. It made him sneeze as he kicked at their sides against a log - flecks of dirt flying everywhere.

But, he was still left with three eggs in his netted basket, a brown one and two whites and a napkin wrapped pie. Castiel knew exactly whom to give them and the pastry to. He grinned then, holding his head high as he made the trek to the very edge of town, where alley cat's growled and you could surely find the road littered with old caved in slaughter houses or porches growing weeds and sage brush.

He had been doing this a long time - traveling here whenever he could.

Whenever Anna or Gabriel were too busy keeping shop to go and send out orders themselves - bottles of milk, jars of pickled cucumbers, dried apples or sacks of flour - Castiel would always offer to help in any way that he could. He was a good brother - at least, partly.

He would pack his wire basket high with the days orders, trousers stuffed with receipts and a small little pencil that he would use to mark up any mistakes should their be any on the orders.

But he didn't always take the correct number of items in stock to deliver.

No, he always took more.

He didn't think of it as stealing - only as borrowing without the intent to give back. He knew it was somewhat of a sin - okay, a big sin, if his brother had anything to say about it. But he had to do it, he just had to.

He had long ago dealt with the guilt of sneaking off with one more apple than was needed, or stuffing a tin of tobacco under his shirt, always being careful not to be seen.

If he was caught, he would have to confess, and if he had to confess he would put those who he was giving these goods to in jeopardy. Castiel would never do that. He wasn't a double crosser - wasn't a tattle-tale.

He was needed way too much to get caught though. He had a job to fulfill.

He was on a mission from God.

His feet scrunched over cracked dirt that was thirsty from lack of rain in the past weeks. He ran over dead grass and stocky bushes that had never seen a pair of shears to a sorry looking shack. The outside had rotted softly from the onslaught of winter and spring rains, of the dry winds that ran through these parts in July and from the baking sun that destroyed everything in it's path.

Castiel walked up onto the porch easily, wincing as a fat rat scattered away to the left to crawl under the structure from harms way.

He didn't flinch at the sight of the rodent - points for him.

Sighing to catch his breath, he softly rapped on the door - the wood already splintering from the weather - holes peeking into darkness that was nice and cool.

No one opened the door, it's frame standing ghostly still.

Biting his lip, fearing the worst, Castiel tried again.

He knocked a bit louder.

"Dean - Dean, it's me - it's _Cas_." Castiel spoke, using his nickname that only two people knew and only one of them used. It was a code of sorts, a sense of familiarity that Castiel held dear to him. He had never loved a nickname more.

All the sudden the door shook under his fingers and Cas pulled away, eyes wide as the darkness staggered back to show a few shadows - long stalks of wood piled high in the house for winter fuel, cobwebs gracefully edged along the corners like pretty lace doilies - the sharp scent of a tobacco pipe burning. The splinters of red embers at his face - the smell of sweet hickory and earth.

Eyes, edged with almost tan eyelashes emerged from the solid weight of coal blackness, the white crescent of a grin accompanying the face to which it belonged to.

_Eyes as green as the saw grass at the river banks _was the last thing Castiel thought before his shirt collar was grabbed by warmth that smelled like dirt, and then he was being pulled, shaken, and sunken into the darkness of the house.

…**..**

**So, any good? If so - REVIEW, DAMN YOU! I KNOW YOU KNOW HOW!**


	2. Friends Don't Kiss

**Welcome to the second chapter of "All In One Basket"! I got some great feedback from the last chapter, so I'd like to thank you all who reviewed! **I do not own Supernatural or it's characters - but I do own this story! **This chapters song is "**Old Virginia**" by **Crooked Still**. **

…

A great big gust of breath escaped Castiel's lungs as he was knocked rear first into a few stray stacks of yellowed hay - too old and filled with dust to be used as anything but furniture in the sparse house.

He felt the scratchy stalks of straw poke at his legs, sticking stubbornly to his woolen trousers - creating an awful friction that itched like hell. He frowned softly as he began to pick at the grass from his pants, fearing that he'd get a good lashing from Michael if he presented himself in such a sorry state at breakfast.

"Honestly, Dean! Must you always just drag me through the door?" Castiel grumbled softly, not really mad - just a tad bit annoyed that this seemed to be the main ritual of his greeting the two Winchester Boys.

He scowled at a very persistent spider web that was iced with dust and clinging to his messy black hair. He made a face of exasperation as he pulled the strands of white from his head. Goddamn Spiders.

However, he could somewhat excuse Dean for his rambunctious and skittish attitude whenever Cas came a' knocking at their front door.

Everything was, and had to be, done in secret of course. No one could know of Castiel's visits, of his daily drop offs of food, comfort, and friendship. Of his little check ins to make sure Sam hadn't coughed up a lung with his persistent illness, to make sure Dean was eating well and not fretting too much over his younger brother like a mother hen with a cold egg. To make sure they hadn't been run out of town from their house that was charred and was long since condemned due to it being more unsafe than a loaded gun with a loose trigger.

Castiel, however, did his best to be there for the both of them, as they had little to their name - everyone in town knew that.

Everyone knew how Dean, the eldest had to catch wild catfish down in the muddy rivers soaked green because he couldn't afford bread and milk for his and Sammy's dinner. How Sammy had a certain cough that they didn't have the money to get fixed - perhaps whooping, perhaps hay fever - they really didn't know, but it made the poor boys veins burn, the blood boiling beneath his skin as if he had a demons virus running through him. Or how Castiel was like a God-sent angel to them, scrounging up food, news, hope whenever he could, because no one else would help them.

The Winchester boys were poorer than Tennessee dirt ever since their Daddy went raving like a mad hound dog and left them- snapping his jaws and drinking himself into a stupor till he just kicked his rocking chair to the floor and left without a word.

Dean would never really tell Castiel what living with his father was like, though the littlest Novak did often catch a glimpse of a strange mixture of fondness and fear in the boys eyes whenever his father _was_ brought up in conversation which wasn't often. Having John Winchester for a Daddy wasn't something easy, that Castiel knew from his sparse late night talks with Dean while Sammy slept on a pile of hay and flour sacks.

My how the towns people would talk though, if they knew that meek little Castiel Novak was frolicking with those _dirty, worthless, Winchester boys_.

It was like one of Jesus' lambs running with a pack of Satan's wolves. Or, at least, that's what Castiel was sure the townsfolk's imagination would conjure up if they ever found out - and each day he prayed to God that they never did, for the safety of Dean and Sam.

But Castiel didn't care too much for what the whistle-stop population squabbled about the boys, about how they'd probably never seen a scrub of lye soap, how they probably caught squirrels between their teeth for their food, or how they swam buck naked in the river under the moonlight for their bath. (The last one Castiel could confirm was true - as he later found out that swimming in the cool Alabama river at night more naked than the day he was born was a fine experience that every child should have!)

The Winchester brothers were the closest things to real friends that Castiel had - and he would do anything to keep it that way. No amount of gossip from squawking town folk could deter him. Not even the threat of a rowan switch to the back of his legs from Michael could make him crumble.

He had the fear and grace of God within him to do the right thing, and he was sure helping folks in need was the best thing in this world he could do at the moment.

But, friends or not, that did not mean that the eldest of the Winchesters had the right, had the gall to shove him inside the little shack so roughly! Castiel wasn't some fast-healing Supernatural being - he was human, and being rough with a human often led to bruises and scraps.

None of which Castiel wanted to sport, thank you very much. Being pale meant he bruised much too easily.

After scraping the last of the hay dust that flecked golden - or as much as he was able to scrub off with his stubby fingernails, he looked to Dean who was still standing above him with his lopsided grin.

_If he was a dog his tongue would be hanging out_, Castiel thought with a chuckle.

"Sorry, Cas. Didn't mean to be so rough." Spoke that very self assured voice that Castiel had encoded to memory. The southern drawl of it was like nothing he had ever heard. It was swirled with the essence of summer, like green dragon flies and the smell of sweet potato pie and hot sun that made you sweat - of laughter gilded together with the fresh hinting of past better memories and the raw sound of past pain.

Dean's voice always held the inklings of pain, no matter what he was saying.

It was a voice that belonged entirely to the older boy, and for that, Castiel loved it - cherished it more than any other in the world.

"It is alright - but, please. Be more careful next time. You nearly broke the eggs." The black haired boy chastised his elder by almost a year - Dean having turned Seventeen a few months ago, letting his age get to his head like a colt turned stallion. He was just raw charisma and cockiness all rolled into a growing strapping young teenage boy. A dangerous combination for a poor boy to have in these parts. Especially if that poor boy hadn't taken to using the words "Yes Sir" and "No Sir."

"Ah! So that's what ya' brought?" Dean asked, with a quick lick of his lips as his smile grew - the promise of food too good to contain his grin.

At the mention of what was soon to be a hot meal, a little lump on the other side of the skeletal caged living room moved and shifted to show the sleepy hazel colored eyes of one tired Sam Winchester.

"I haven't had eggs in weeks…" Mumbled a sleep laden voice that had just the hinting of bratty-ness - as fourteen year olds tended to acquire. But it was soon smoothed over with a grateful smile as coffee colored hair was shaken like a dog to disperse dust and the little boy freed himself from his cocoon of moth and mice eaten blankets.

"Hey, Castiel," he smiled in greeting. "Thanks again for scrapping together some food for us." The littlest Winchester, who always spoke with good Christian manners, scooted closer to Cas, trying to not seem too desperate to get his hands on his meal that would no doubt be his first and last today. He had at least a pound more politeness than his elder brother who was as stubborn and good-natured as a cranky mule. Sam, at least had patience.

"It is no problem Sam, I only wished I could give you two more than my meager supplies - but I fear if I did take an increase in stock, Michael would surely notice." Castiel frowned at his sudden inability to give more, share more, offer more - his mother hen instincts kicking in as he lightly coddled Sam to him, the littlest boy only biting his lip a bit at the awkward display of affection that was entirely Castiel.

It was as if the black haired boy was secretly an angel and thought of himself as a failure for not being able to provide more with all his angelic goodness. As if he didn't deserve his wings and halo any longer.

"Don't worry about it - we are grateful to you, really!" Sam smiled, his young eyes sparkling something dewy and it made Castiel feel a bit better, as if his efforts hadn't been entirely useless.

But that didn't stop Castiel from noticing just how tired and sorry looking the brunette at his side looked - as if he had picked a fight with an iron freight train - and the train had won.

Smudges of blackness like smeared charcoal rimmed under those sweet looking innocent eyes that had done the world no harm, that looked to have dreamt great things with that gaze, so pure as it looked back into Castiel's own cornflower beauties.

Sam's lips were bitten and pale and a bit scabbed as if he had been worrying them to death from nervousness. From sleepless nights that plagued both brothers, of waking up startled by any hinting of a noise - of lying in bed from coughs and chills from the draftiness of their little hovel. Of being separated in the morning only to be found in cold concrete jail cells behind iron bars.

But that train of thought had to die right then and there, had to smolder like a match on it's last breath of phosphorous, stamped out cold and black.

Because Castiel just couldn't bare to inspect the damage that the world had done on this poor ramshackle family. He didn't need to dig too deep to understand that things were bad, that help was needed in more places and none. He didn't need to know all of it so he didn't dare ask - he didn't ask about their Daddy or Mamma' though he knew enough about them from newspaper clippings he stole from his Daddies show box. He didn't ask about their money troubles, about Sam wanting an education he could never afford, about Dean dreaming of owning a shiny black car that would thunder down the road in a cloud of dust.

He didn't need to ask because he already knew of their dreams and struggles and wants, and that was enough.

It was enough.

So he sucked his cheek in between his teeth and killed those thoughts, finding no good in them - the devils tools to make him fall.

"Dean, you're so greedy - You have no manners!" Sam said then, smacking his brothers snooping hands away from the now revealed pie, looking sweet and crisp and beautiful - like in one of those nicely printed recipe books that old ladies kept in their cupboards, black inked pictures that gleamed on the pages.

Dean retracted his hand, cradling it to his long sleeved white shirt that had more of it's fair share of dirt - making the cloth look almost brown though try as Dean did to clean it at the river with pounding rocks.

Rolling his eyes, the eldest of all of them scoffed, pointing dramatically to his stomach which Castiel knew for a fact from swimming with the boys was toned and muscular and a bit underweight in some places. Ribs shone under his breast, hunger evident in places were fat and muscle should be stored.

"Uh, yeah, I'm starving aren't I? Manners don't matter when you're starving!" He declared, a soft smile gracing over his lips as he rubbed at Sam's long hair - the child due for a haircut that they couldn't afford, let alone give without having half his ear taken off by Deans clumsiness.

Dean was no good with scissors - he was all thumbs.

"Well, here, if you are so hungry." Castiel pressed the wire basket into Deans hands, the cool metal leaving his palm to slide against Deans own.

Green eyes grew wide with thanks as the eggs, pretty and petite rolled against the pattern of wire, the three of the little oval shapes then handed off to Sam who cradled them in his palm as if they were jewels - laid by the golden goose or other such nonsense.

"Take some fat from the grease jar in the cupboard and smear it over a pan - fried eggs sound mighty good right now, doncha' think, Sammy?" Dean chuckled as he sent his little brother to cooking over the small wood stove that had thankfully been intact inside the house save for a few rusty handles and a smoke flew that you had to jostle and hit to work.

But they would take what they could get.

After the pie had be split into three gooey chunks of cold apple and cinnamon, and the eggs had been fried to perfection - if not a bit runny, the three boys sat down to their meal.

Castiel had politely taken the littlest piece of pie on his chipped plate and left the rest of the eggs and pastry to the brothers - as they needed the calories more than he.

They sat in silence for the most of their breakfast - the sounds of fingers licked clean, of teeth clacking and of the smallest little usurp coughs from Sam the only noise in the wind tattered cabin.

But it was a nice silence, one that wasn't strained in the slightest by the outside world. In here, when they were together - they were as safe as they could be.

The Devils and Demons outside these walls couldn't touch them.

"So, what do we owe you for the food?" Sam asked then, licking his fingers clean of the little specks of uncooked egg yolk, his mouth wincing as the meal was still piping hot from the stove and the grease bit like a wild cat on his lips.

Castiel paused, wiping the pie crumbs from his tweed trousers as he then fiddled with the metal clasp of his suspenders. He busied his hands like crazy, not meeting the two Winchesters as they began to pick themselves up off the floor to put the few little clay glazed plates they held in their possession to soak in the wash pale for an easy cleaning as soap was not an option to be wasted on dishes.

The littlest Novak knew for a fact that the Winchesters did not take charity. They were stubborn and fierce and would be proud to the end or die trying. So, this, Castiel had to handle with care lest he offend Dean something fierce.

With meek blue eyes the black haired boy looked cautiously up to Dean who caught his gaze, his eyes widening to the size of the Devils full moon before his face grew shy and his cheeks began to burn. Yet he did not look away.

Castiel smiled softly, a quiet upturn of lips that he was sure only Dean could see - and all for the better.

"I'd like the same payment as yesterday... If that's alright." Castiel's eyes never left Deans own green ones, their gaze so cemented that it would take a garrison of angels to pull it apart.

At the not so careful look that the two older boys were placing on display, Sam raised his eyebrows, feeling like he was missing out on something that was mighty important. At least he thought so, judging from the way his brothers face was turning pinker than one of Ellen's Prized roses.

Oh yes, he was missing something very important.

"Uh, yeah. Let's, let's go out on the back porch though - I moved the tin of pennies under the boards." Dean bit his lip after he spoke, rubbing the back of his head as if he had one hell of an itch under his skin. An itch that he just could not for the life of him scratch.

At Castiel's sudden quirked eyebrow, Dean felt his eyes dart to the floor than back at the boys face, biting the inside of his cheeks as he did.

"Safe keeping an' all." He mumbled in a sorry attempt to explain himself - something he, as a Winchester, should not have to do.

"But I thought the money tin was under the mattress-" Sam was about to interject with more puzzlement in his voice than Dean cared to deal with at the moment.

"Shut up, Sammy." The older Winchester barked with a pointed look, his voice not so much as angry as it was irritated.

Sam frowned for a few seconds, a bitch face about to erupt over his features before he hunched his shoulders and snatched his unused fork off the floor, throwing it into the wash pale with a _thunk_ - water spraying over the wall in speckles.

"Whatever," He stuck his tongue out at his brother, earning a softer glare from Dean as an apology.

Sam then turned to Castiel with a renewed smile, a grin that was partly due to having a full belly and partly due to seeing an old friend again.

"See you later Castiel, and thanks very much for the eggs and pie." Sam waved softly to the black haired boy as he inched closer to the kitchen to make sure they had enough wood for tomorrows meal, leaving Cas and Dean to make their way outside.

Walking along the frayed and half worn porch that squeaked under their combined weight, Castiel felt his gaze stay on the back of Deans neck as the sun did it's damage upon his skin - a salty drop of sweat curling into the wrinkled collar of his shirt.

Castiel licked his lips, making sure that Dean did not see his eyes that were already showing glazed and nervous. He wringed his hands together, placing the empty wire basket on the floor at his mud caked feet.

This part of his visits always made the littlest Novak's heart hurt dearly in his chest - a good kind of pain, like a dull throb of waxing pleasure, but a hurt none the less. As if his heart was the old wood of a cello - his pleasure the strum of the strings. His heart played a lovely song and all for a certain person who he cared deeply for - more than anything in the world.

The quiet must have gone on for too long though, as Dean was now turning his head, shuffling his ratty clothed body towards Castiel with a purpose that shown sheepishly on his face.

Once he was in front of Castiel, a few inches away, he lightly grazed his fingers over Castiel's forearms, the innocent touch making Cas's face color red, his breath hitching in his throat.

Dean chuckled, obviously amused by how his touch could cause Castiel to react in such a away.

"Uh, well - here. Your payment." Deans breath was hot as it ghosted over Castiel's lips - the black haired boy feeling his heart in his throat as he relaxed his jaw - breathing in and out through his nose.

He closed his eyes softly, his soft raven lashes lacing over his pink flushed face as he waited for his compensation that he looked forward to so dearly each day.

"Now, now why ya' gotta' close your eyes?!" Castiel was not expecting words - lips, yes. But not words. Especially ones that were a little desperate and whiny.

He huffed in mild irritation before opening his eyes to pout at Dean.

"I...I just, that's how I've always...accepted payment. I get nervous if I don't." He curled his tongue in his mouth as he looked to the ground, feeling all abashed again, hands coming to coil at his sides as if he had done something wrong.

Which apparently he had, because Deans lips were still not upon his, he thought with a twinge of annoyance.

Dean sighed, his face peppering red as he rubbed the back of his neck again, a sign Castiel had come to know as his 'nervous' gesture. It almost made Castiel smile once more. Almost.

"Well, yeah," Dean bit his lip as he tried to find the words he wished to say. "But ya' miss the best part if you close your eyes!" He insisted with his reasoning, hands tightening just a tad on Castiel's arms, making the cornflower blue eyed boy look up at the touch.

Castiel seemed to mull over Deans words in his head, weighing their importance, their truth against his own feelings on the matter.

"Perhaps I should be allowed to decided what is the best part." He finally spoke, a kind smile testing itself on his lips as his eyes looked up to Dean.

The older boy felt his throat go dry as his mouth parted a bit, jaw relaxed and all too shocked at the other boys words that brushed over him.

Castiel smirked.

"But, I will open my eyes this time. Just for you." The smiled reached his blue eyes as he spoke.

Dean couldn't help the grin that spread across his mouth, his teeth showing behind his lips as he licked them wet.

Leaning into the Novak boy with a sense of eagerness that was entirely Dean, pretty lips pressed against dried ones in a gentle brush that was softer than a marigolds petal and sweater than a piece of candy.

Once parting for a quick suck of warm air that caressed around them happily, Castiel felt his eyes almost flutter shut before Dean gave him a playful frown to remind him to keep them' beauties open.

And then that mouth was on him again, hungrier with more determination that all but made Castiel's toes curl in his shoes, his hands dumbly squeezing at his side as he craned his neck up to further the slide of lips, the wetness of a mouth opening and the shy peaking feeling of a tongue bushing against his own.

It was marvelous, beautiful, and glorious all wrapped up into one and it left Castiel breathless as those warm and entirely rough fingers pressed against his clothed arms again, the feeling of touch an overload to his innocent brain.

This was not innocent. He concluded with half a smile as he felt one of his hands leave his side on instinct to grip tightly at Deans shoulder - he couldn't help his fingers squeezing tighter as Dean licked at the roof of his mouth.

Castiel had never whimpered, ad never made a sound like that in his life - and it was all thanks to Dean.

But then their lungs started to burn, a protest for air barely reaching their minds as fingers slipped from their grip on shirts and necks were pulled back - lips wet with spit and red with nipping shone in the sunlight.

Castiel had to resist the urge to giggle.

"Thank you, Dean." He rasped, his voice entirely wrecked and all from a kissing session that couldn't have lasted more than a minute.

"That was... Very enjoyable." Cas mused, as he watched Dean shove his hands in his pockets - the older boy leaning back on the heels of his boots as he grinned like a wolf who had just caught a rabbit.

"Yeah, well, you're not too bad yourself - should shave that Goddam stubble though. It's like kissing one of Singer's goats." His eyes crinkled as he laughed, Castiel betting he could count all the freckles on his pretty face if Dean would let him.

Then Dean was shifting on his feet again, hands busying themselves to grip at his suspenders like old men do when they want to be serious - or at least want to try and act serious.

Dean failed miserably.

"Um, hey, listen. Sammy and I, we were going to go down to the pond to fish - get some food in our bellies. Wanna' come along?" He was trying his best to sound nonchalant, as if whatever answer Castiel gave him would be fine, would not matter in the slightest. Cas knew it to be a lie.

But he couldn't help but frown, knowing fully well that today of all days he was needed at the general store the most to help his brothers and sister when Michael brought the new stock in from the neighboring town. He would have to man the counters with Anna as well as help carry goods in while Gabriel took numbers of all their supplies - what was dwindling, what was popular, what was just collecting dust on shelves. Michael himself would be swamped helping his father carry the crates inside, what with Michaels lame leg and all - his injury thankfully excluding him from going back into the hell that was the war.

Cas sighed, wishing more than anything that he could spend the afternoon wading in the swampy water, shucking feet and hands in rock holes and banks to wrestle out whiskered catfish - maybe find a couple of crawdads for their supper.

But he was sadly needed elsewhere.

"I would love to, but I'll have to decline. Michael is taking the mules downtown to get more supplies - I have to go help Anna work the counter at the store while father and him unpack and water the team." Castiel hung his head low, not wanting to see the disappointment that was sure to flash over those pretty green eyes.

Dean sighed himself but nodded, knowing full well that Castiel, no matter how many siblings he had to help, always had a full chore and work load at the general store that was the families income. Their fun day in the sun would just have to wait another day.

"I'm sorry, Dean. I wished we had more time to be together, you're a real good friend." Castiel spoke quietly, eyes shifting upward to plead with Dean to understand that Castiel's life practically revolved around him and his younger brother. Without them Castiel barely had a reason to live, or so his dramatic sixteen year old brain told him.

Dean looked up quickly at his words, a bit of hurt clouding his eyes before, quicker than it came, it was gone - wiped away with a fake smile that hurt to settle upon the Winchesters lips. Hurt more than a stab to the gut.

"It's no problem, Cas. I wish we had more time to laze around too." He assured him, Cas barely catching the discomfort from before. It was like it never really happened, a figment of his imagination.

"Maybe... Don't get mad, But I was thinking of talking to my father about something." Castiel twiddled his thumbs, feet kicking lazily at the wire basket that rolled some with his movement. It skidded over the creaking porch that cracked in places and splintered in others.

"'Bout what?" Dean asked carefully, thumbs resting against the inside of his scuffed up corduroy pants - a farmers clothing the only thing he could afford.

"Well, we need more help with running the store - Pa's never around and what with Michaels lame leg - we need more hands than not." Castiel bit the inside of his mouth, waiting for the verdict like a deer awaited the buckshot.

"Cas, I don't want no charity." Deans voice was low with warning, his stubbornness icing his tone.

Castiel huffed, palms upturned at his side in a pleasing gesture.

"It's not charity, Dean. We need help - you're brother, he's very smart. He could help keep numbers on stalk and profits. Lord knows we need someone cleaning up after Gabe's horrendous accounting mistakes."

Dean furrowed his brow, thinking carefully, weighing what little options he had at the moment.

Seeing that he was wearing the older boy down, Cas persisted, a smile on his lips, eyes wide and hopeful - using his baby blues as a secret weapon that no one could resist.

"And you could work with me - running the counter and doing deliveries!" Cas sounded more excited by the second, willing Dean to consent to this marvelous plan of his.

Dean scratched his chin with his right hand, his eyes skeptical as he began to mumble.

"It would help pay for some of our costs. Sammy's got an awful bought of a cough - we could save up some money to buy him some of that expensive medicine to help. Hell, maybe even get him through school." Dean laughed then, a biting sound that was entirely humorous, but still Cas hoped again all hope that Dean would say yes. He would love to spend more time with the boys, watching over them and making sure they had enough money to get themselves the goods they deserved. Warm blankets, lantern oil, meat and vegetables and maybe even Deans favorite peach tobacco as a treat once in a while.

"So, will you do it then?" He had long since scooped up the egg basket and was wringing it and wrenching it with his hands, sweat slick against his palm with nervousness.

Dean worried his lower lip for a few seconds before he spoke.

"I'll think about. Ask your Daddy, see what he says about the whole thing." Dean caved, folding his arms over his chest as he admitted defeat - though he did feel a surge of happiness as he watched the black haired boys face light up, the smile shining in his cornflower eyes.

Castiel grinned fondly, his heart heating with the smooth sensation of warmth before placed his hands on either side of Deans cheek. He pressed his lips happily against the Winchesters own, feeling quite pleased at the little gasp against his mouth as he did so.

Then, with that parting kiss, Castiel pulled back and winked to the older boy, feeling a surge of confidence over take him as he quickly clamored over the side of the porch rails, feet landing in a pile of pine needles as he turned back to wave a stunned Dean, stuck in place as if he was cemented to the spot.

After Castiel, sheepish smile and intense blue gaze and all, bounded away from the shambled house, Dean felt he could take air into his lungs once again. His brain was working over time to sift through the many mixed signals that the youngest of the Novak children was giving him, his heart pounding heavy at his breast, making him almost feel pleasantly sick.

Rubbing his cheek which he was sure had now turned beet red, Dean turned to the houses back entrance, his feet making a slow lead-heavy racket as they stomped over the threshold.

Once inside he spotted his younger brother nursing a plain white chipped mug of yarrow tea - Dean having colleted the white flower clusters painstakingly yesterday morning at the crack of dawn, getting his shoes all wet and muddy with early morning dew.

After once more especially large gulp, Sam took a heaving breath of the stale air in the house before he looked to Dean with a curious gaze, noticing his brothers flushed face.

"So, what's new?" Sam asked quietly as he set the tea down on the three legged stool that served as most often than not their dinner table.

Dean, deciding to get straight to the point as he was so accustomed to, ran his hands through his sandy blonde hair that was quickly turning darker by summers light.

"Cas offered us jobs at his Daddies store." Quick, simple, to the point.

Sam's eyes widened with glee, sitting up from his little nest like bed.

"That's great, Dean! When do we start?!"

Dean sighed as he rubbed the back of his neck, sitting down across from his little brother on a shapely bale of hay, the back of his pants battling against some of the itchiness that crawled up his legs like spiders.

"He has to ask his Daddy first. I told him we'd think about it."

Sam pulled his very first bitch face of the day, what was to become more as the day dragged on.

"Dean, we need the money. I ain't feelin' too hot in this cramped little cabin. It smells, it's drafty, and I'm pretty sure a rat has been sleeping in my bed with me. I want out, Dean."

The older Winchester nodded, hearing his brothers words like a knife to his heart. Sammy did deserve better, better than tin crackers as a meal, of chewing leaves of wild mint and feverfew to curb his hunger when their tummies were rumbling something fierce in demand for food, always wanting food. If Dean could help keep them afloat, at any means, - well, then, a job he'd take. Even if it did sound an awful lot like charity.

Deans pride be damned.

"Alright. I'll tell Cas yes. We'll work at the store."

Sam grinned, eyes sparkling, brow waggling. "Now you can see your Sweetheart everyday." He smirked, sticking his tongue out.

Dean colored redder than cranberry jelly at thanksgiving before he hit his brother warningly on the arm, Sam laughing as he recoiled back from his brothers light cuff.

"You wanna' lower your Goddam voice?!" Dean hissed out. " I don't feel much like getting strung up today, do you? Besides. He's not my sweetheart." He grumbled out with a huff, wedging himself deeper against the creaking wall of the shack, straw digging painfully against his lower back.

"Dean," Sam rolled his eyes at his older - yet simply stupider - brother. Clearly Sam was the one who got the brains in the family. "Don't think I don't see you two - kissing and muttering honeyed words. You're in love with him!" Sam declared, throwing his hands up in a jabbing gesture before smacking them down of the dusty empty flour sacks - leftover white powder flinging up into the air.

Deans face soured like he just ate something bitter.

"Yeah, well, he ain't in love with _me_. He thinks were friends."

"Oh..."

Dean smiled, a disbelieving growl of lips that promised the destruction of furniture and maybe a wall - as if the older boy was about to stomp his foot through the floor boards in an attempt to make him feel better.

"What kind of friends kiss each other without it bein' more?! I ain't putting my neck on the line for fuckin' friendship!I love him, Sam!" Dean growled out with frustration, knotting his fingers in his short clipped hair as he hissed out air from his lungs, eyes biting red.

Sam, for once was stunned at his brothers outburst of painful emotion - his eyes widening as a whine escaped Deans throat.

Sure, Dean got emotional sometimes - but usually he only cried over burned pie or spilt beer. This was serious - this was really eating Dean inside and out.

"Talk… Talk to him - clear up the misunderstanding, Dean." Sam whispered softly, his puppy dog eyes making Dean's own gaze shut tight, not wanting his brother to guilt trip him into spilling more of his guts like a blubbering fool.

"I just might." Dean whispered under his breath, before he turned to Sam with a hard warning look - his jaw set tight in the big brother kind of way.

"Not a breath of this to anyone - I don't want to get run outta' town, ya' hear?!" He pointed his finger at his younger brother, Sam nodding earnestly before a soft smile, a small upturn of lips, showed on his face.

"Whatever you say, Dean. Whatever you say."

…

**Wow, long chapter is long! Well, I hope you liked the itty bitty little make out fest and the pouring of feelings. Hah! Please review, it makes me oh-so-happy! **


	3. Been Kissin' Raspberries?

**Welcome to the third chapter! It makes me very happy that so many of you were pleased with the last - so I hope this next one is even better! **I do not own Supernatural, but I do own this story! **This chapters song is " **Hallelujah** " by **Tracy Chapman**. Now, sit for a spell, put your feet up, and enjoy this next chapter!**

…

He felt like he had never ran so fast in his life - mud flecking on the back of his legs in cold spurts, breath heaving and lungs burning as his body was filled with a pulse of happiness that seemed to run though his veins. Into his blood, into his very being.

His hands could not stop their maddening swinging as the wire basket spun in the warming Alabama air. The sounds of robins twittering and Blue jay squawking was music to his ears. The thunder of a rumbling Cadillac sent a thrill to his very core, and the smell of hot cakes being cooked on a griddle sent his stomach to grumbling.

It was as if everything was heightened. As if he was a celestial being seeing things for the very first time, feeling things that he never imagined in a million years that his fragile pale little body could experience. He had escaped from his shell of a human being and was as big as the promised Empire State building in New York - and it was all thanks to one Dean Winchester.

Castiel smiled then, his face flushing pink as he nibbled at his lip that was more than likely a violent red color. All plump and kissable - looking like those peep show girls lips in Gabriel's shiny papered magazines that he hid underneath his bed.

Perhaps Dean thought of him as appealing - as handsome as those girls? All dolled up and sweet looking, with their shiny hair and their nice teeth and the pretty things that they wore?

Castiel slowed in his run, catching his breath as he leaned against the railing of the barber shop - the sign painted blue, white and red swirling round and round, making him dizzy.

Perhaps he was just as fine looking - like a pretty flower in bloom or a star shining up above in the heavens. Perhaps Dean thought he was the nicest boy, the one who was best suited as his darling.

_His darling._

Castiel blushed then, his face erupting as pink as a seashells insides, teeth biting at the nail of his thumb in his own nervous gesture.

Oh those thoughts would just not do.

He sent his eyes away and back again about him, hoping that no one saw the splatter of red on his cheeks and the nervous blinking of his eyes as he tried his very best to slow his heart and steer his mind from such nerves of the heart.

With a gaze that was more misty than an Alabama Cotton field in early light, Castiel tried to distract himself with the scene around him, with all those fine smiles and rough talk - dirty jokes and giggling behind hands, the sounds of pretty heels on wooden sidewalks and the creak of rocking chairs and the purr of cats.

His eyesight caught up with his straining ears, breath still trying to catch itself deep within his lungs so that he could be on his merry way once more and Michael would not have the excuse to tan his hide for being late to breakfast.

He saw the military boys all dressed in olive green at the window before him - looking at the prices painted on the pane, rolling paper cigarettes or showing off wallet sized pictures of their sweethearts. Each one greeted him with a grin or a kind word, asking if Michael and Luke were better, if Gabriel was to take the elder twins places when he was old enough. They all talked and questioned and made Castiel's brain clouded with chit chatter that he almost didn't know what to do with them. Some even held up fingers to their foreheads in mock salute to the younger boy - all in good jest before they found themselves shipped off to the hells of war - on blackened shore, crumbled cities, or bloody plains.

But Castiel simply smiled back, answering as politely as he could that, No - Michaels leg was still very much lame and would be for quiet some time as told by the doctor. Luke was not feeling much better either with his headaches and was told by the drafting building that they did not take kindly to his rude attitude and strong headed ideas. Gabriel, well, he was more likely to run for the hills when the draft called his name then ever take up arms.

The black haired boy smiled back at them as he answered each and every prying stumble of words, reminding himself that he'd much rather liked to talk to these young men than children his own age - save for the Winchesters. They were different. Wonderfully different.

But the men before him, all tall and young looking were nice company as acquaintances and friends - but not like Dean. No, he didn't like them as much as he liked Dean - didn't find them nearly as appealing to converse with or simply sit in comfortable silence like he could do with the older Winchester.

There was just something about the sandy haired boy that enticed him more than others.

It was a romanticized view, he knew, but he could not help finding himself attracted to the very aspects that made up the freckled boy. Oh he knew Dean was pigheaded, rude mouthed and didn't care for doin' a lick of good if it didn't suit him or his brother - but he was also so many nice things that Castiel admitted were hard to find in the other boys and girls in town his age.

Dean was sweet - sweeter than honey when he wanted to be, when he wasn't putting on a act to flatter a girl, or to live up to his playboy exterior.

He was also braver than a mountain lion mother protecting her cubs, all fury and courage.

He was clever too.

Such as that one day, a late Friday afternoon in March when Castiel had been talking Deans ear off about how much Michael had been working him to the bone, about how he always picked at Castiel's faults instead of focusing on his hardworking good points, about how he was just plain mean and cranky and Castiel just wanted to get back at him so badly but lacked the precision to do so.

Well, after a good hour of dumping out his stupid heart and soul to the freckled boy, Dean merely clapped him on the back, smiled real nice and easy and said '_Don't worry about it - I'll fix everything._'

The next morning Castiel woke up startled to screams and growls from across his room that he shared with Gabriel, the noise shaking the walls of the small house that his family lived in till the egg shell white ceiling was practically humming with the noise of one of the twins howls - the other laughing his hide off.

Retracting the door back with fumbling fingers Castiel had almost died with hilarity as he saw Michael hopping up and down on the Persian carpet, using his good leg to pivot himself around the hallway, itching his sides and arms as he yelped. He was cursing the Devils name and every demon in-between. From Azazel to Lilith.

It seemed that some vandal had come in through the Older Novak's window through the oak tree branch that often scraped against the twins bedroom frame and laced Michael's bed sheets with ticks and fleas. The little insects were shaking and jumping along his linen night shirt and cotton pants that were now flanked wet with sweat.

Needless to say, Castiel had thanked Dean quiet happily the afternoon after with a batch of Anna's lemon bars, congratulating him on his clever prowess and ability to be able to trap jumping fleas inside a jar without getting bit himself.

Castiel smiled fondly at the memory, thankful that he had a friend like Dean, someone whom he could come to voice all his misery at the world and to be listened to whole heartily and comforted in not the most respectable of ways, mind you - but in the most earnest at least. And the most kind.

Feeling that he had wasted just about enough of his time, he waved his hand back and forth in a wobbly salute to the boys at the barber shop, their smiles elevating Castiel's own grin as his heart began to steady once more, feet stomping along dusty gravel ground that got right into the soles of his shoes.

It didn't take him long to pick his way back to his Daddy's General store - the old wooden building with the newly painted red steps gleamed right center in the middle of everything - having witnessed on countless accounts the on goings of the town at it's best and worst. Mr. Alistair's drunken talk at it's porches when he had nothing better to do on a Friday night or Ellen's pleasant drop ins with Anna and Michael about how business was doing, and the coming of the railway train spouting black billowy smoke around the forests bends.

Why, this old store had seen it's plenty share of mayhem, hilarity, and pure honest to God serenity. From when one of Mr. Crowley's bitches harbored herself under the porch floor boards to give birth to a litter of _hell-hound _pups, to when Gabriel was chased up a tree by his ex-sweetheart Kali after she grew as angry as a flame when the idiot broke up with her.

This store was a harbor of stories and secrets a plenty - the smooth worn down counters and glass casings and dusty shelves sure held their share of Castiel's heart, dreams, and wants - as well as his skeletons locked tightly in-between the walls which he hoped to Gods glory would never be seen by prying eyes.

Because this store he had betrayed, stolen many a things from it's shelves for what he believed to be a great cause. This old building that smelled of bergamot and canned pears and tobacco was his sanctuary of sin, where all his wrong doings had been committed - like an angel that had fallen from heaven into the depths of the mortal world for a human hurting more than him.

But he'd still like to think that this store would forgive him, all of his misdoings. This store was his home and he should hate to abuse it more than he had to. Because, he simply had to commit the sin of thievery. There was no other option.

Castiel bit his lip, worrying it between his teeth that tasted rich like apples and cinnamon. He decided he should drop this topic, should steer clear from these thoughts for a while lest his face be colored with shame for the whole street to see.

So, busying himself with brushing some lint from his trousers, he turned to the left and right of the market general store.

Mr. Bobby Singer was sitting down at one of the rocking chairs in front of the general store for the customers - tipping his leather hat to Castiel in a grumpy greeting before he went back to nursing his flask of whiskey. He began rolling cigarette paper with ease round the powdered tobacco that flecked a dull black and green.

The store was still empty before him, stone cold and silent - the _Open_ sign having not been twirled and lifted, opened to weary customers of the like looking for linen, soap, and milk all in that order to help ease the worry and normality of their lives.

Passing by the old disheveled man with kind eyes, Castiel silently jammed a silver key looped with twine into a lock hole, the clicking sound alerting him to push open one of the glass windowed doors, the rough curtains feeling like a welcoming caress to his cheeks.

Once inside he turned his back to the door, tucking the hinges neatly in place - hearing the click and clink of the mechanism as the door was locked tight once more. The bells above him tinkled their warning of a customer, of his entrance into the sanctuary of the sin wrought store.

Sighing with what felt like tiredness and giddiness all wrapped up in his bones, he pocketed the key loop and walked to the shiny glass counter that was smeared lazily with a few streaks of water, behind the counter Cas spotted Gabriel try to snatch at a few spice drops that sparkled with sugar.

"You know you're not supposed to eat candy before breakfast, Gabriel - Father will be awful sore with you." Cas chuckled as he lifted the soft wooden divider that let the employees work behind the shop counters and the back room shelves.

Gabriel only rolled his eyes and stuck his tongue out, the lollypops he had licked clean earlier this morning painting his mouth a bright blue.

"And what took you so long, Squirt? Usually it doesn't take an hour to deliver a itty bitty basket of eggs!" Gabriel snapped with a joking glimmer in his eyes. Taunting was his specialty, baiting Cas to slip, to make a mockery of himself. That's how Gabe worked best.

"I ran into the creek 's all." Castiel muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets, a habit he knew he had to break - Gabriel could smell the lie on him like a bloodhound with a scent.

"And what about your lips, Cassy. They're awful red." _There goes that shit eating grin_, Castiel thought hotly. Oh how he hated that grin.

Brows furrowed tightly over watery blue eyes, Castiel lied again, this time sucking in cool breath between his clenched teeth to keep the blush of heat off his neck.

"I stopped to eat some raspberries by the creek. Must have eaten to much." He bit at his lip, eyes shadowed by his lashes. He wouldn't look his brother in the eye.

"Sure you ain't been in the bushes necking with someone?" Gabe smirked with glee as he noticed the rumples and creases patched along Castiel's collar and starched shirt.

Castiel rolled his eyes at his brother carefully, trying his best to seem uninterested. Ignoring the curve of his elder brothers lips, he returned the smile with a soft huff of his breath.

"You know very well that I have no one to kiss, Gabriel." The littlest Novak stated, looking Gabe dead in the eye. It pained him to lie this time. Because he did have someone to kiss. He did. He had someone who cared about him. Who threaded his hands in his much too black hair and who commented on just how lovely his eyes were. _Like those of an angel, Cas. _

But he bit down on his tongue and shut his mouth, though it pained him so.

Gabriel raised his brows at his brother, frowning at Castiel's words.

Yet not wanting to deal with a reaction or a pep-talk so early in the morning, Castiel huffed a careful sigh before he pushed against Gabriel's shoulder. He exited the small shop front to wash his hands in the cramped storage room where a grey dirt streaked sink was perched against the wall. Damn thing always made the worst of noises.

After he had scrubbed under his nails till his fingers were pink, he slapped his shoes against the sink ring to shake off all the gathered mud and willow leaves - watching them as they swirled down the drain.

It wasn't long before Gabriel, grumbling and stuffing some golden wrapped butterscotch in his pockets, stuck his hands under the vehemently cold splash of water.

_Thank God he dropped it_, Castiel thought with relief.

Without using any soap, his older brother deemed his hands clean enough to not get a belt buckle smacked on his wrists by Michael. Yet he still pondered his messy light chestnut hair - noticing it a bit too shiny with grease to be passed off as "washed" by the eldest of the two twins. And so Gabe cupped his hands into the water that was turning a yellowish brown from the rusted pipes. He flecked a few drops into his hair, slicking it back to give off the appearance of him having washed his locks.

Castiel snorted softly as he watched his brother fond over his hair. Castiel knew it must have been a few days since his brother had washed - he hated baths more than anything, and in this weather they were just too uncomfortable!

After Castiel had pressed his feet back into his now sopping, however clean, shoes, the two brothers made their way to the Novak family kitchen for breakfast.

…..

So, how did we like this chapter? Sorry it took so long to update! I hope you all forgive me! Reviews would be lovely for motivation.


	4. At the Lords Table

**Hello! Welcome to the next chapter, beauties! This chapters song is "**Angeline the Baker**" by** Crooked Still**. I hope you like this chapter! I do not own Supernatural nor have I ever claimed to. Though that would be fucking fantastic if I did. **

…

Their feet squeaked along the loose floorboards of the backroom till they came to the whitewashed hallway of the kitchen. Their mothers old textile rug depicting the garden of Eden softened their quick pace underfoot to a soft patter. Oh my how they were grateful for that rug. Causing a racket early in the morning was one sure way to make Michael, the eldest twin, angrier than hell.

Yet they did not go completely unscathed by Michaels glare and pinching fingers as he soon caught them with a look of blue ice round the hallway corner from where he stood to swoop down upon those siblings that were late to their morning meal.

Sure enough, out of what seemed like nowhere, their eldest brother appeared with eyebrows black as night strung low over cold blue eyes. Michael grabbed each boy by their ears and tugged, the flesh turning a bright red at the brutal touch.

"Ow Ow _Ow_…" Gabriel and Castiel huffed quite indignantly as they were herded to the circular dining table, the Novak family having called the rounded piece of furniture their very own version of the _Round Table_.

Once Michael was satisfied that he had caused his two youngest brothers the most possible infliction of pain without getting belted himself, he set them down in their prospective chairs, Castiel situated between Anna and Luke, Gabriel just across from him left to himself to sulk.

It was then, when they were all seated, that Anna turned to her younger brother with a questioning gaze, eyeing his rumpled collar and bruised red lips. She mouthed her concern quiet carefully from behind her linen napkin - but Castiel brushed her off with a timid shrug. His gaze, however, did not miss the curious look of her green eyes as they widened, but she left enough alone.

She was always the kindest, never pushing him to spill his secrets. She knew he'd tell her eventually. He usually always did.

Yet oh how he'd hate for his sister to know the sins he has just committed this morning…!

Stealing, lying… and… Kissing?

Was kissing a sin? It couldn't be. Not when it brought him so much happiness and pleasure. However… Castiel bit at his lips as Michael sat down, casting a protective eye over each and every one of them as if they were his misguided flock.

Perhaps… Because the kiss brought pleasure - it was bad? Such as pleasure of the flesh?

Castiel's face paled as he contemplated this, reasoning with himself quickly that that couldn't be true. It just couldn't be. He was a good Christian!

Most of the time…

If loving Dean Winchester meant he wouldn't get his silvery wings in heaven - then he didn't want no crow-bait feathers anyhow.

But by then Castiel's thoughts were destroyed - caught up in the fire as all of the siblings, who were quiet up until this point - heard the unmistakable heavy footsteps of their father.

Tired and slackened face, their father shuffled in through the screen door that was snagged in a few places when Luke threw a tantrum and kick at it with his big feet.

Today Mr. Novak had a woven basket dirtied with the dust of a dozen pears, all olive pitch green freckled like a bucket of fools gold under his sinewy arm. Their father, old as he was with salt and pepper hair, shuffled like an old goat. He was always grumbling and sighing wherever he went.

Castiel's brothers and sister waited patiently for their father to take his seat. Castiel himself began to sit on his hands so as not to be tempted to place his elbows on the table. Doing so would be the equivalent of a lashing from a willow twig. _Ain't nothin' worse than bad manners at the Lords table, Castiel! _Michael and Luke would quip at him like pecking hens.

Both actions of a tanned hide and a curt verbal abuse unnerved him to the core, so he made extra care to press his chin to his chest and look toward his lap. He would hate to ruin such a lovely morning with his unwanted eye contact.

So it soon became that they all waited as a mismatched family. Silent and respectful, napkins laced upon their laps and fingers scrubbed pink and clean before they even dared to grab at the buttered bread that was set upon the table.

After their father sighed softly for his sixth time and set the basket in the porcelain sink to attend to later, he sat himself heavily down in his wooden chair, the cushion creating a softness to the air as he scooted upward to meet the table.

With a soft smile that made each sibling sigh with relief, their father pressed his palms to each other in a kiss of flesh, meeting the parched and hard worked skin in a slap.

He began with the words of grace and the like - Castiel, ashamedly, daydreaming through the breakfast prayer.

After the words, dry and a tad too mournful, left their fathers lips and they all said _amen_, he set upon his plate his own fixings before Michael and Luke were allowed to take their share which was followed by Anna and Gabriel and then Castiel.

Ham cut into pink curls and bacon dowsed in animal fat was crisped high upon his boring white plate, filling his nose with honeyed goodness as he snatched the maple syrup from Gabriel's greedy fingers. Gabriel always spooned out all the sugary syrup, leaving none for Castiel in his gluttonous haste.

After everyone had a plate hefty with runny fried eggs, toast cut rightly and prettily into triangles, bacon and sausage links doused with pepper, and each a fresh halve of a pear, they began to dig in.

They would always talk about boring things. At least, boring to Castiel.

Safe subjects you supposed they were called, topics that would please their father and give the twins no reason to smack you on your hands.

They would talk about the war. About those horrible Nazi's that were eviler than the devil himself, horns, tail, and all. About how our boys would show 'em what for! Uncle Sam'll give 'em a nice kick in the ass for their troubles!

They talked about getting Anna's record player fixed, the dust having numbed the sound to awful static. She needed a new needle, and a new cleaning cloth to make that machine glow bright spic and span like before. Just a tad bit of elbow grease and a Saturdays afternoon attention to it would put things in order, their father has said through a gulp of coffee.

They talked about how big mouthed Balthzar might be visiting them later in the summer - Gabriel throwing a fit when it was decided his bedroom would be the best place to house the visiting cousin.

They talked about little things, stupid insignificant things that Castiel rather liked. It drew attention away from him and assured him that his misdoings would never so much as be brought up at the table by some string of bad luck or an ugly throw of the dice.

Michael had never brought up the subject of a bag of sugar having magically disappeared from the rickety wooden shelves and Luke never commented on having a few eggs lost each morning from under the warm bodies of the hens more than likely due to pesky raccoons. Anna and Gabriel never spoke a word about how sometimes they found the glass candy jar lid pressed against the rim haphazardly, not where they had left it before they closed shop the night before.

Castiel was ever so thankful to the Lord that his siblings were either the most dense of all minds, or just saving his skin. He was betting it was the first, as he only really trusted Anna with his secret and he hadn't even the heart to tell her!

On and on they talked about those stupid things while their father sopped his triangular toast into the bight orange egg yolk on his plate. Lucifer nursed his coffee with cream like it was the third wonder of the world, chiming in to complain about the barber shop down the street clogged with all the soldiers. He earned a nice _thwak_ on the head from Mr. Novak with a rolled up newspaper for his troubles.

Anna nibbled on a bit of bacon while tapping the tip of her shoe to an old Yankee melody, ignoring anything in the conversation to do with her old male classmates leaving off to be shipped war.

Gabriel himself could only be entertained by the conversation for so long. Soon he began to sneak lemon drops into his own coffee cup because, as Castiel noted, he was a sick individual with a sweet tooth. It wasn't long however before Castiel and Anna were giggling with hands covering their mouths as Gabriel took a sip of his drink and quickly puckered his face, the sour outweighing the sweet.

It was Michaels voice who soon droned out the youngest siblings antics.

"I'll drive the mules into the city after breakfast… We need more chicken feed, cooking oil, and I'll fetch us a length of rope to fix the crooked saplings in the orchard. Anything else we need?" Micheal asked their father before taking the last sip of his black coffee. No nonsense drinks for the eldest of the Novak siblings.

Jimmy pondered his sons question as he chewed sullenly on the last of his toast - barely even brown, just how he liked it. Sweet but plain.

"I can't think of anything except maybe a few more pouches of that peach tobacco. Folk's 'er buying it up like it's sweeter than wine!" Jimmy exclaimed as he downed the last of his milky coffee, clattering it sharp and nerve wracking on his saucer.

But before that bit of conversation died and a new one was arisen from the ashes, Castiel saw his fathers eyes gleam bright with something. _With warning._

"Just make sure you lead the mules away from _Colt Path _- they always get spooked near those old burned down shacks." He mumbled tersely to Michael, pointing a thin finger to the eldest son.

_Colt Path? _The name tumbled and shook and practically breathed against Castiel's skull. But that was where Dean and Sam lived.

"You mean... The houses from the Winchester fire…?"Castiel asked with a breathy whisper, his fingers pulling themselves away from his utensils that had been busy cutting into an especially hard piece of ham, the honey tough as sap crusted around it.

At the littlest Novak's words, Jimmy raised his grey thin eyebrows high. Slowly he nodded, watery eyes looking at Castiel with much thought and silent observation.

"Yes, those houses." His father's voice lowered as he stared at Castiel's own wide eyes. Castiel was sure his father could, at that very moment see every one of his sins written plainly in typewriter text upon his flesh and blushed face. Like a great ink burn caused by coals and a rubber stamp all dewy with wax.

But, with a quick jerk of his head, Mr. Novak turned back to look at Micheal with a stern face that meant a world of hurt if his advice was not met with decision.

"Take the team over the _Wendigo Bridge _instead - they shouldn't give you any trouble if you keep those blinders on 'em. Lead 'em steady, they'll be sweeter than milk cows." He insisted, satisfied when Michael nodded with earnest at the command.

It was all Castiel could do but to look down at his plate all messy with food, all off colors and shades that now made him sick to gawk at. He felt like his stomach was churning more painfully in his gut than when a snake strikes at your flesh and all the blood clots up thicker than butter. He was dying from holding his tongue until he could stand it no more!

He cleared his throat with demanding.

"Father?" He inquired thoughtfully, carefully.

Jimmy looked up from the black ant like text of his morning paper, fingers straying from the spine of the grey pulped material to gaze expectantly at his shyest son who hardly ever spoke let alone _requested_ at the meal table.

"Yes, son?" He asked, lowering the paper to rest at his knee.

"I was thinking... well, more like hoping, actually..." Castiel stammered, trying desperately to collect himself before his words fell to the floor in a useless heap of broken desires and questions.

"_Yes?_" His father sighed, hands coming to relax at his temples where his thin eyebrows rested, the hair wiry like that of a goats.

Castiel breathed over the huge lump swelling in his throat, over the pounding noise of his heart nestled in his ribcage before his lips quaked the words forth like unsteady feathers falling from a birds wing, all zig-zag and misdirection.

"You know how you've been talking about wanting to expand, to hire more employees? Have an extra pair of hands to help around the store? Good trustworthy folk?" Castiel swallowed a mouthful of spit and licked his lips, aware that now each and every one of his siblings gaze was fixed upon him, including Michaels whose eyes had grown to thin slits of judgment and annoyance.

Castiel wished he could corrode into the wood of the floorboards and melt into the earth like he's seen chemicals in his teachers lab do, all fizzy and foul smelling. He felt quite foul at this very moment.

"Spit it out, Castiel." Jimmy warned. His patience, what there was left stored in his temper, wearing thinner than the pages of the Family Bible.

"I was wondering if some acquaintances of mine could acquire jobs at the store? The youngest - he's quite clever with numbers and the oldest is strong and isn't afraid to work long hours." Castiel spoke softly, eagerness starting to break through from the terrified look in his eyes. He didn't mean to be mouse-ish, but living in a house where his entire life was exposed and judged seemed to do just that to a young man.

"Who are these lads?" His father questioned, a quip of interest in his voice that Castiel could not recognize as either good or bad.

"Sam and Dean…" His voice spoke like a wisp in the wind, barely a noise and yet _my how fast it erupted into a loud clatter. _

Michael slammed his fist into the table, causing the spoon in the sugar tin to flit to the floor, the silverware jumping an inch to the side of everyone's plate.

"That wouldn't be Sam and Dean Winchester, would it?" Michael accused, a harsh glean drowning over his eyes like that of a bull when it saw red. Castiel squirmed in his seat and sat quickly on his hands, not trusting himself to not make a gesture that would deeply offend his brother.

"Yes…" The littlest Novak answered sheepishly, squinting his eyes as his gaze desperately tried to fixate itself anywhere but on Michael.

It was an excruciatingly hard task to achieve.

"I don't want you hanging out with that trash." The eldest twin hissed out like a mocked rattlesnake that had its tail pulled one too many times.

Jimmy sighed and relaxed his shoulders, entreating his oldest son to steady himself. There would be no fighting at the table if he had anything to say about it. They may not be the most functional of family, but damned if they didn't at least have a lick of manners.

"Castiel, those boys are ruffians - a good Christian like you shouldn't be runnin' round with them." Jimmy warned, his voice trying to obtain a chastising tone but it still cut Castiel right to the bone.

He could not stop his face from heating up to a haughty red, his teeth gnashing from behind his lips as he huffed.

"But Father, you should see the way they live -" Castiel was about to plead the Winchesters case with vigor when Michael scoffed.

"The live like rats, like trash!" Michael sneered, crossing his arms over his chest, mouth pouted outwards in disgust. Castiel had the right mind to split his lip and bust his gut.

"Yes!" Castiel confirmed with anguish. "They live in one of the houses that caught fire after their Mamma's was lit! In a charred house that doesn't have any plumbing nor heating! They eat catfish and saltines for their every meal! Sam, he's got an awful cough ever since spring and Dean's doing his best to keep them afloat. They need help, Pa. They're good strong boys, and aren't you always saying that Jesus helped the poor?! The leapers and the sick and all of the like?! Well, why can't we help them?!" Castiel felt the words flow from him like a dam, like the celestial waters that carried Noah's ark far _far _away from land and into a whole lifeless sea.

And in that moment, he knew he would pay for his outburst.

"Castiel!" Michael warned with a booming voice like that of a church parson accusing an sinner of a grave accusation. Lucifer himself went on whistling with a smile as he reclined back in his seat, surprised that his baby brother had such guts - even if he was about to have them torn out by Michaels fist.

Jimmy however, seemed to ponder his sons words.

"Now hold on…" He looked to the soon to be sparring siblings.

"I haven't been around the store as much as I could be - that's true. What with all those shipment deliveries coming in from Birmingham we could use some more help with the counter and deliveries…" His voice of reason trailed off with consideration.

"Father?" Michal's voice was stunned, but Castiel was already smiling nice and wide like a kid that had just been handed the biggest parcel on Christmas morning.

"Alright, it's decided. Your friends will start first thing tomorrow morning." His father nodded, creating a steeple of his fingers underneath his chin.

"Oh thank you father!" Castiel smiled with glee, his voice shaking with thankfulness.

Jimmy just sighed with tiredness and stabbed his fork into a now cold puddle of yolk and ham. "Just finish your breakfast, boy. You've chewed enough fat at the table for one day." He huffed, the rest of the table quieting down to swallow the rest of their meal.

Castiel shut up is mouth good and tight and nibbled at the corners of his toast, too excited to eat much and too elated to keep the widening smile from erupting upon his face.

…

**So, what's the verdict? Are you guys still liking the story? I'll admit, I'm an asshole for making you guys wait this long, but hopefully I'm forgiven? REVIEWS WOULD BE JUST LOVELY!**


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